Pieces of Your Presence
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Fear, selfishness, independence...something, call it what you will, brought it to an end. So, the only question left... Is it Forever?
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, I know I have two X-Files stories in progress right now, but this idea came to me, as I was listening to a song (which I plan to reveal later on), and I just couldn't sleep until I wrote it down. And I know I could write it and not post it, but I want to get some feedback on it thus far. So, reviews would be greatly appreciated. _

_Thank you so much!_

_Um, this takes place probably around season 7ish... I'm not really sure. : )_

_Natalie_

_Oh yeah, theline breakslet you know when the POV shifts from Mulder to Scully and vice versa… I hope it's not too confusing!_

_

* * *

It all started seven months ago. The day that partnership became something more. The day that friendship transcended into something more significant. I hadn't expected it, but, then really, who ever anticipates life changing experiences? _

For seven months thing had been great, for the most part. Everything that happened between us seemed to be magnified by the elevation of our relationship. Most of the time we did well enough at separating work life from home life, but still, things that happened at either place seemed to carry on in some way or another into both environments.

We had the power to affect each other more than anyone else on the planet could affect either of us. We'd always had that power, of course, but it, too, was magnified. Most of the time we were happy, extremely happy, we hardly allowed the sadness room to mill.

Most of the time I walked around in amazement, half expecting Scully to turn to me and say 'haha, fooled ya.' Or, perhaps worse, I waited to wake up from this amazingly wonderful realistic dream I'd been having. There was just no way, in my mind, that this could be real. I had started loving Scully… well, I don't really know when I had started loving Scully, but it had happened quickly, and long ago. I realized long ago that no one in this world compared to her.

But me. What did she see in me? I guess the root of my doubt started with myself. She was too good for me. She was perfect in every way, and there was no way on this earth that I deserved her.

But I wasn't dreaming. It was all a reality, and I had never been happier. And what's more, I had never seen Scully happier, and I was thrilled that her happiness came from me.

But, one day that all changed. One day the happy kingdom we had been building came crashing down all around us.

I don't recall now what the fight was about, other than it was work related and something along the lines of 'I believed and she didn't.' There was yelling, I remember that clearly, though I don't remember what exactly was said. It was a normal fight, like many others we'd had, even in the seven months that we'd been together.

She stormed out, and I didn't chase her. I knew better, this wasn't the first time we'd had a pretty big fight about work. So, I just sighed and sat back down at my desk and finished my work.

I went home and showered, and put on my jeans, the ones she likes so much on me, and a faded blue t-shirt, and headed over to her place. I grabbed some wine and flowers on my way over, figuring that this time would be the same as always.

Every time we fought at work, we just shrugged it off, and went about with our regular lives. I'd usually come over and watch a movie, or we'd go out to dinner or anything normal. The fights were never mentioned, because we agreed long ago that we had to separate work from our relationship as much as possible, or we would never survive.

So, you see now, why I assumed that this time would be like always. I thought I'd just get to her apartment and all would be forgiven. I knocked on her door, put on my cheesy smile, and waited for her to come to the door.

But when she opened the door, I could tell something wasn't right. Her expression was somber, and it looked as though she'd been crying.

"Scully, what's wrong?" I asked, quickly concerned. My thoughts raced a mile a minute, was it her mother? Bill? Her nephew?

She looked at me for a minute, before she said "I think you should come in."

I nodded and came inside. I set the wine and flowers on her table and turned around to face her as she closed the door. She paused, momentarily, and put her head on the door, prompting my repetition of my earlier question "What's wrong?"

She exhaled a breath that I didn't know she'd been holding, and then said "Sit down, Mulder."

I did, not taking my eyes off of her. She came to the couch and sat beside me. Not too close, I noticed briefly, before I asked "Is everything okay?"

She looked at me, tears in her eyes and answered "No, Mulder, it's not."

I moved closer, prepared to take her in my arms, but she put her hand on my chest and said "Don't."

* * *

I thought I could do this, I really did. Somewhere, deep down, I know I still can, I just don't know quite how. I don't know how I can do this, feeling his muscles tense under my hand. He looks so confused, so lost, so hurt—and all from one word. Don't. 

But if I'm going to get through this, I can't have him touching me. I can't have him putting his arms around me, because if that were to happen, I might lose my nerve. It's barely hanging on as it is, my nerve, that is.

When he showed up at my door I almost changed my mind. Just seeing him standing there with his cheesy grin was almost enough to make me forget myself. It was almost enough to make me forget what I was doing. Almost.

But my reasons are solid; my reasons are valid, sound. They have nothing to do with lack of feeling, no, in fact, it's quite the opposite. I try not to think about the opposite and focus on the situation at hand.

He looks so concerned, and I feel my heart break then and there. Just looking at his expression constricts my heart and throws it into the pit of my stomach. I don't want to do this; God knows I don't want to do this. I wish I could _not_ do this. I wish I could just scoot next to him, put his arm around me, lay my head on his chest and never leave this room again.

No, I don't want to do this. But, I need to.

He takes my hand, the one that was on his chest, and holds it. He sits silently, waiting for me to speak. Oh, God.

"Mulder…" I start, trying to speak around the lump in my throat and keep the tears filling my eyes to the brim from pouring down my face. "Mulder," I clear my throat "I-I… can't do… this anymore."

He looks at me, confused; he doesn't understand what I'm saying to him. He looks at me, and puts his hand on my face. He smiles slightly, to let me know that it's okay… that everything's okay.

Oh, but it's not. I take a deep breath, looking into his eyes only momentarily.

I look down at our hands, linked together; perfectly fitting, then I squeeze his hand and say "This."

* * *

I couldn't have heard her right. There's no way I could have heard her correctly. Or, at least, there's no way that she could mean what I think she means. She didn't mean what I was thinking. 'This' did not equate 'us.' There was no way that she could have been talking about our relationship, maybe just our displays of affection? Maybe she couldn't…hold my hand anymore? Even I knew how irrational that was, but to accept that as being irrational was to accept what she meant. 

I'm sure my face is contorted right now, as I'm trying to figure out what she means, as I'm trying to decipher what to feel. Deep down, I know what she means, but there's a part of me that wants to validate, there's that little optimist inside that says 'no, she couldn't mean what you think she means.'

So, I ask her. "What do you mean, Scully?" I now have tears in my eyes, and I try to keep them at bay. I know what she means.

And she knows that I know.

"Mulder…" she pauses "you know what I mean…" She says it gently, but at this point I am incapable of taking as anything but harsh.

I quickly rip my hand away from hers and stand up. I run my hands over my face and pace back and forth. She stays on the couch, looking at the floor.

I finally stop, my mind still racing and ask dumbly "Why? Is it because of what happened at work today?" My tone has an edge to it, one that I'm absolutely certain didn't escape her ears, and she turns to look at me.

She pauses for a long moment, as if she's deciding what to say. I see her eyes moving quickly, and I know she's trying to make a decision, I just have no idea what she's deciding about. "No, Mulder, it's not because of what happened at work today."

"Why, then?"

"Because, Mulder… I just…can't." She finishes.

I look at her, mouth agape. That's it? "That's it, Scully! You just can't! You're… you're breaking up with me because you just can't do it anymore!" I ask incredulously, raising my voice.

She's taken aback, but she responds, still gentle "There's…more to it than that, but…I just can't." she finishes.

"Yes, I know, you've said that already, numerous times, in fact." I come over to the couch and sit down, still angry. "What more to it is there, Scully? I think I deserve more than an 'I just can't.' Scully, you know I deserve more."

* * *

He was right. He did deserve more, but what could I say to him? Could I tell him I was scared? That things between us were just too damn powerful? Could I tell him that I didn't want to do this, but that things between us were just so damn electric that I was terrified? 

Could I tell him that I was losing one of the only things that I had ever fought to hold onto? Could I tell him that I was losing my dependence, and that scared me more than anything else in this world?

My mind scoffed at me and said 'of course you can, Dana, you can tell him anything.'

I could, but I couldn't. So I just said "Yes, Mulder, you do, but… but I just…can't." I finished lamely.

"You sure can't do a lot of things." He says, and I felt the sting of his words in my eyes. He was right, of course, so very right. There were so many things that I couldn't do.

He put his head between his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his eyes, and sighed. He looked…fragile. No, he looked broken, and I felt a hitch in my throat at that thought, and closed my eyes. I couldn't bare to see him like this, and even more, I couldn't bare to see him like this with the knowledge that it was me and my own selfish fears that had brought him to such a state.

Long ago a friend of mine told me that one cannot be entirely selfish if one considers oneself to be selfish. I used to think that maybe she was right, that as long as I could recognize selfishness in myself, then I wasn't completely selfish.

But looking at Mulder now, I know without a doubt that my friend was completely wrong. What's the use in recognizing selfishness if one does nothing to eradicate it within oneself?

Looking at Mulder the way that he was made me hurt inside so very badly. I wanted to take it back, to take everything I said back. And I knew that if I did, he would forgive me, and we could go on as if nothing happened… but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

In the end, my fears won out. My selfishness won out. My selfish fears kept me silent, waiting for him to speak.

It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke again. He turned his head to the side and asked "So, that's it?"

I nodded my head.

"That's it? This is how it's going to end? I don't get a say in it? It's just 'good-bye, I can't do this?'"

I offered only a meek "Yes." My voice came out in a hoarse whisper so low, I wasn't sure if he heard it. I hoped that he did because I didn't know if I had the courage to repeat it.

But when he grabbed the flowers and wine off the table, I knew he had heard it. He walked to the door, not even looking back and me, he opened it, and before he stepped out he said "Then damn you, Scully. Damn you to hell."

I winced at his words. Deserved or not they still stung.

And with that, he slammed the door.

* * *

Most definitely to be continued. 

_Please, if you have time, give feedback, it would be appreciated beyond your belief. Don't hate me for breaking them up just yet, okay? _

_Anywaaaay, let me know what you think. : )_

_Natalie (Calculated Artificiality)_


	2. Chapter 2

_I know this has taken awhile, school's started and I've been busy with classes, but I think of my fanfiction often, I just wish I had more time to write._

_Speaking of time, review if you have it! _

_Hope y'all like it at least a little!_

_Natalie_

_Once again, the line breaksseparate the POVs._

* * *

I don't remember walking down her hallway, and I don't remember walking to my car. The only thing I do remember is that once I closed the door, I lost it. Any semblance of composure that I had vanished with the slam of the car door.

I let the tears flow down my cheeks, and let out an ironic laugh. One minute everything's great, everything's wonderful, and the next, I'm building a river in my car.

Story of my life.

How did things in my life always end up turning to hell? I'm not trying to play the martyr; I never really have believed myself to be one, even with everything that's happened to me.

I put my key in the ignition, not sure what to do. I didn't want to be alone, but there's only one person in the world that I would go to feeling as badly as I did. And, from the happenings tonight, that wasn't a possibility.

I wanted so much just to talk to her, to tell her not to do this, to yell at her, scream at her, cry at her, but I couldn't. I couldn't go back in there and tell her what I was feeling. But…if I did, maybe she would reconsider, tell me I'm right, and then kiss me and tell me she was sorry. Or maybe she'd laugh at me, the way Phoebe did, tell me I was stupid for ever believing that it would last forever.

I wanted to believe that she wouldn't do that, but the truth was, I wasn't sure of anything at that moment. I was at a loss, what could I do? I sat and thought about it, and the answer remained the same.

So, I started my car and went home.

* * *

He doesn't understand. He doesn't know the truth.

'Of course he doesn't, you imbecile, you didn't tell him. How's he supposed to know?'

I try to escape my thoughts, and walk to the window. I pull the drapes apart, and what I see freezes me in my place. I see Mulder, head in his hands, crying.

Seeing him like that, so broken, sends a pang to my stomach and a corresponding one to my heart—something that feels like a crack. I feel tears in my eyes, and I let them fall, I'm not worried about my image anymore, I'm not worried about my armor.

I watch him until he drives away, and then I try to forget this evening, I try to drive him from my mind, I try to get the events out of my head. But, I can't, it's impossible. All I keep seeing, every time I close my eyes and try to fall asleep is him, crying, him broken, and this time, it's not the nameless, faceless men that have hurt him so deeply… it's me.

And I did it because of my own selfish fear, my own fear of getting hurt, of where our relationship was going, and where it wasn't.

I should call him and tell him I'm sorry, that it was a stupid mistake, then he'll understand, and everything can go back to the way it was. We could forget this ever happened, and continue on happily in our lives. He'd forgive me, I think… but it is fear, too, that stops me from picking up the phone, because _what if_ he doesn't forgive me? What if he says no? I don't know if I could live with that.

I know I come off as being tough, cold as ice, but the truth is, I'm a coward. My exterior is just an elaborate front that masks my true cowardice. So, I don't call. I just stay in bed, and try to will sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, he's in my mind. And my last thought as I drift off into a restless sleep is 'What have I done?'

What have I done?

* * *

I sat on my couch, numb to the humming of the fish tank beside me, numb to the glaring of the TV, numb to the aching in my stomach that told me I hadn't eaten since breakfast, focusing on the only thing I wanted to be numb to: My heart.

It hurt…so bad. I promised myself I'd never get this attached to another woman. No, that I'd never get this attached to another human being, period.

It worked…for awhile. For a long while, actually—I went about my business, I went about my life, never having to worry about getting hurt so badly. Never having to worry about my heart being broken. It got lonely, sure, but I told myself it was worth it. It was worth all the lonely nights to never have to experience such a heartbreaking pain.

What I ended up with was a heartbreaking dissatisfaction with my own life and what I had become.

But that was fine, because the power lied with me to change that. It was my own fault, it was my own choice.

That changed, though. I knew it would. I knew it the moment she stepped into my office. I knew that _this_ was different. There was no doubt in my mind.

And _it_ was different. Just, the end result is exactly the same.

I stare at the TV, and I tell myself that I should've known, I should have known better. I should have seen it coming, I should have seen the signs.

But, deep down, I know it was too late. It's been too late since she walked into my office.

My eyes drift to the door, and I wonder if she isn't standing outside my apartment, ready to knock, ready to say 'oops' and 'I'm sorry' and plead for me to take her back. Somehow I doubt it, and I manage to stifle my urge to run and look out the peephole just to make sure.

She's not there. I can feel it. I can feel the emptiness in the hallway with just as much intensity as I can feel the ache in my heart. As intensely as I can feel the emptiness in here.

I lie down on the couch and wait for sleep to come. I beg for sleep to come—it's the only thing that can save me from drowning in my misery. Poetic soul that I am, it's the only way to keep me from feeling like absolute shit.

I lay there for I don't know how long, before I eventually manage to drift off into a dreamless, restless sleep—the last thought that enters my mind is of her, of course…and my brief questions of 'How am I going to get through tomorrow, because, as God has no mercy, there _will_ be a tomorrow?'

* * *

It started the moment I woke up—this aching in my head. It serves me right, I deserve no mercy. None whatsoever.

I am a coward. Plain and simple—losing my independence scared me too much. And now, I'm waking up alone again.

Some independence.

I stretch, trying to shrug off the sleepiness, but I find quickly that it will not go. It seems to have settled, but it feels more like a sense of discontentment. Surprise, surprise. I don't know why I thought it would be any other way.

Did I honestly think that I could just pick up as if nothing happened? As if the last months of my life hadn't happened…as if they hadn't been absolutely amazing?

Did I mention that I was also stupid?

I was stupid to have thought those things, and I was stupid to have done the thing I did last night. But there was no turning back, I had done what I had done and now I had to live with it. I didn't have any other choice.

I went to go get in the shower, hoping the warm water could wash the remnants of last night off of me—but I knew that nothing could erase the painful image of Mulder that I saw last night. I knew nothing could make me forget the fact that I was the one who had caused him such grief…such anguish.

So I just got into the shower and hoped that it could get me clean…another unlikelihood, considering how utterly dirty I felt.

I thought of calling in sick… but I realized that that would only prolong my fear, my dread. And I realized that I could call in sick forever, I could quit…but then I realized that I couldn't. Of course I couldn't do that…I could never do that.

I would have to face him today. There was no getting around it.

* * *

I woke up feeling as though I hadn't slept at all. Which was probably closer to the truth.

I walked into the kitchen and poured the stale coffee leftover from yesterday into mug and heated it up. The taste of a cup of coffee was the least of my worries right now.

After then, I hopped into the shower, and let the hot water run over my body, trying to wake myself up—knowing that it was an impossible task, but trying nonetheless.

I have to face her today.

I have to face her today and I'll look like hell and she'll know that I didn't get any sleep.

I'm pathetic. And you want to know why? Because the thought that immediately followed that one in my mind was:

But, at least I'll get to see her today.

* * *

_To Be Continued at a later date,_

_As usual, reviews would be much appreciated._

_Natalie_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello there dear friends! _

_I'm actually supposed to be writing a five page response paper to the journals of Sylvia Plath for my poetry class tomorrow, however, this seemed like a much viable alternative._

_The paper is due at one, but I'd neglected this story for so long, and those who read it as well. :-) Thank you for your comments and encouragements, BELIEVE ME when I say they are VERY much appreciated._

_I hope I do this story...and you guys justice tonight._

_Natalie_

* * *

The basement seemed colder and emptier than usual; though I'm sure it was no different than any of the early mornings or late nights that had been spent here. I sigh and sit down, staring into space. I cannot decide if it's good that I'm here before him or completely wrong that I'm here before him.

I've nothing to do but sit here and wait for him to come in—he's late. Maybe he's not even coming in at all. I guess I wouldn't blame him, I almost didn't come in either, until I gave myself the old "you made your bed now you have to lie in it" speech, not a real motivator, but it got me here.

Dead tired and looking like hell run over by a dump truck, but here nonetheless.

I twirled a pencil in my hand trying to think of how today would go. What would I say? What would he say? How would we pass the time until we said our goodbyes? How would he act? How would I act?

I didn't know the answers, but I was going to find out because I heard slow footsteps in the hall, getting closer and closer to the door, I took a deep breath as the handle to the door turned, and the door opened.

* * *

She sat there, pencil in hand, completely disheveled as though she hadn't slept all night. Deep down, I really wanted to revel in the fact that she looked so rundown, but I couldn't… 

She was just too damn beautiful to me.

I didn't really know what to say, and I'd been thinking about it all morning—I'd spent more time planning for this than actually getting ready for the day, that's actually why I was so late.

First I decided to act nonchalant, as if I didn't really care, but I knew that I really did care and I didn't feel like acting all day, it would be too draining.

Then I thought I'd be an asshole, a complete jerk, after all, she deserved it. And she probably knew she deserved it, and I would be completely justified in acting like a complete jerk, but I knew I couldn't do that either, because… well, because it's Scully and I love her, let's be honest.

My next plan was to be miserable, to make her feel sorry for what she'd done. That would've been the easiest because God knows I'd been feeling sorry for myself all night long—but I decided against that, too, because… actually, I'm not sure why, but I just decided against it.

So, ultimately, I decided that I would come in with absolutely no game plan whatsoever. Which I obviously didn't think through completely. Because this whole 'playing by ear' thing is kind of uncomfortable seeing as how neither of us are saying anything.

I think I mumbled some sort of feeble thing that sounded quite possibly like "hi" but I can't really be sure.

I walk over to my desk and set my files down, my back to her when she speaks:

"You're late."

Ladies and Gentleman, there is the woman that completely ripped my heart out last night, the woman with whom I am still completely head over heels in love with, the only woman who has ever made me cry myself to sleep…

* * *

Oh, wow. Probably not the best opening line, I know… hindsight really is 20/20. 

'you're late?' Really? That's all I had? After the complete bitch I'd been last night… after how awful I made him and myself feel, and 'you're late' is all I can come up with?

He stops in his tracks at my words, pausing as if trying not to… I don't know, break or explode or something, and then he sits down, and looks at me.

Really looks at me. Not just a glance, but he looks me in the eyes, and I feel a sort of pinch in my heart and a lurch in my stomach and doesn't break the stare. What I see there hurts my heart so very much—so very, very much. Pure love. Pure, pure, pure love, and he doesn't look away until my shame makes me shift my eyes to the yellow number two pencil in my hand.

It is then that I know that I am the most awful human being to ever walk the face of the planet.

Mulder had always told me how he didn't think he deserved me, how I deserved so much better than him and all the things he could ever offer me. He said that I was entirely too good for him, that he'd never be good enough to deserve me or my love.

He was wrong. I'm not good enough for him, I know that now… now that I've done what I've done. He's never been a coward—through it all he's only ever stood up for what he's believed in, even in the face of so much adversity, so many people trying to bring him down and tell him he's crazy or wrong, and at the first sight of trouble, or fear I run away. I ran away last night, that's what I did.

And I don't deserve Mulder or his love… and that's the only thing that's keeping me from crying and sobbing and telling him I'm so sorry for what I've done.

* * *

I can't take my eyes off of her. Oh, I want to. Looking at her now just reminds me of how much I've lost. How much I will never feel again—how much I never deserved. 

She looks at me, too, for a moment, and something that looks like shame flashes in her eyes before she looks down to her hands and focuses on something there.

How have we come to this?

I sigh, and then speak, though I fear my voice will not come out as strong as I'm pretending it is: "Yeah, I know…sorry."

She doesn't look at me, she still stares in her hands, but she clears her throat and says "it's okay."

The irony of it all makes me want to laugh, but I'm not one for humor at the present time.

"We have to finish the report on our last case." I say, trying to talk about something, anything, really.

This seems to snap her back to reality, "Yeah, right. The chickens in St. Petersburg, is there anything specific you'd like me to put in my report?"

"No, not really" I say "It wasn't an X-File, it's pretty much cut and dry, I'm sure our reports will be synchronized."

"Yes," she says, turning away "I'm sure they will be. When's the deadline?"

"Tomorrow, 10 o'clock."

"Right."

* * *

I boot up my computer and start writing, the silence between us is deafening. I'm not putting much thought into my report, I'm not even sure what I'm typing is coherent. 

I keep replaying last night in my head, and I keep going through this morning—what I did was right. No, not right…something that hurts both of us so badly can't be right, but I did what I had to do. Or, what I thought I had to do, what I thought would be best for us… no, that's not true. I did what I thought would be best for me.

I had been selfish. I had always been selfish, if I were really honest with myself—I think deep down we all are selfish…but what I had done was beyond selfish. And I couldn't rewind it and make everything better…

And this time my selfishness hadn't just affected me, it had affected Mulder, and I don't know where we are going to go from here, truth is, I don't know where we _can_ go from here.

I sigh, again, and shake myself out of my reverie and force myself to focus on the screen of my computer where four little words I didn't even realize I had typed stare unapologetically back at me:

"What have I done?"

* * *

_That's it until next time, but more to come hopefully soon._

_Review if you have time--feedback is always much appreciated._

_Thank you! Now... on to Plath..._

_Natalie_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey there folks! Well, I'm out of school for the summer, so yay for that!_

_Anyway, here's another installment for this story. It's written a bit differently than the first three in that there are not so many shifts in points of view, there's actually only one shift._

_Anyway, if you get a chance, review and let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy it… I really, really do._

_Natalie_

* * *

What have I done.

Not a question, but a statement, now. It hits me like a ton of bricks and suddenly I can't breathe. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know that if I don't get some fresh air that I'm going to collapse or something, so I mumble something to Mulder and leave the basement.

I ride the elevator to the ground floor—everyone either stares at me or completely ignores me. Normally, such treatment wouldn't get to me at all; I'm used to it by now. But for some reason, on the most basic level, I feel hurt. I curse myself and head outside of the building. I need to get out.

It seems I've been feeling a lot of that lately. Heaven knows it's not wanderlust. If it were I wouldn't have stuck around here for seven years. I would've left long ago if I hadn't, well, if we hadn't had what we had. If that makes any sense at all. Were I partnered with someone else other than Mulder working on these bizarre cases that test my limits, beliefs, strengths and weaknesses every single day, I would've called it quits long ago.

I walk to the edge of the corner and I see a homeless man with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. I briefly wonder about his story, what events led him to this street corner in this forsaken city. I wonder if he loved someone. If someone ever loved him. Maybe nobody ever did and that's why he's on the corner begging for change. Or maybe someone loved him too much, and that's why he's here. Maybe love wasn't ever enough for him and that's why he needs a quarter from a stranger. Or maybe things just never went his way—or maybe they always did but he never let anyone past the brick wall he'd built up around his heart. I didn't know, but though I rarely do, I pulled a dollar out of my coat pocket and gave it to him.

He thanked me with such gratitude that it made me want to cry.

I don't know what it was, but in his eyes I saw something of myself. I know it sounds crazy but I did—I don't know how many of us are just one turn away from ending up on a street corner, but I could sure see how events in life could lead us that way.

I walk around the block a few times just thinking. About one thing, and one thing alone: how all the events in _my_ life had led me to this particular point. How last night hadn't had anything to do so much with the person I am this very instant, but the person I'd been intent on being my whole life.

Does that make sense?

I did what I did last night not because I don't love Mulder. But because I do. Which is crazy. Not that I love him, but that I broke up with him because I love him. It's like my whole life I'd intended to be someone…and I was afraid that wouldn't work out, I was afraid that my intense love for Mulder would ruin that.

It's this realization that brought me to another one. I'm worse than that homeless man on the street corner. At some point in his life, he must have taken a risk, something that defied everything he'd been intent upon becoming, because Lord knows he didn't set out to stand on a street corner begging for change. What I mean to say is, he took a risk—and sure, the consequence was dire. But at least he took it.

I didn't. And now look where I am. Alone and miserable while the man I love is devastated.

And all because I was afraid to risk.

I wasn't worth Mulder's time. I knew that for sure, what kind of woman was I? Even more, what kind of human was I? Tears stung the back of my eyes like a million needles, my eyes welled, the tears begging me to allow them to fall. But I couldn't. I couldn't let myself cry--not like this, not here.

I've never been one for self deprecation, but I couldn't help it today, in the middle of the city, thinking about all the things that have gone right in my life... and all the things I had made go wrong.

* * *

I was doing my work, surreptitiously watching Scully out of the corner of my eye, of course. When she just started to look pale. It was very sudden—she just looked at her computer screen and her face went pale.

I thought about asking her if she was all right, but I decided against it. Mostly because she would have known that I was watching her all along. Which she probably already knew, but on the off chance that she didn't I wasn't going to risk it.

Then she got up and mumbled something that sounded like "fresh air" and left.

The very last thing I needed was more alone time. I thought about following her, but I didn't want to become a complete stalker. Okay, that's not true, I really wanted to 'stalk' her for the time being, but I was afraid I would get caught. I know I'm not the most dexterous person around.

So I just kind of sat there. I couldn't really focus on my report, which is weird because I was completely alone, and I was focusing just fine with Scully there. I would have thought it would have been the opposite.

I let my mind wander though. It stayed mostly on Scully, of course, but it did begin to drift. I thought about all the things in life that had brought me to where I am today. Had things in my life been different, I wouldn't be where I am today. Who knows _where_ I would be, but I certainly wouldn't be here, in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building chasing paranormal cases in pursuit of the so-called truth. I wouldn't be a reject to the majority of my peers; I wouldn't be so damn low on the totem pole. Or, maybe I would've been worse.

That's the blessing and the curse of what ifs, really. You don't know what you could've been. Or what you would be. And thank God for that, I think.

I started to think about my quest. My endless quest to find my sister. There was a time when all I could do was think about Samantha and what had happened to her. I would stop at nothing to find all the answers, vague and cryptic though the path may have been. I had no regard for myself or anyone else—Samantha was the only thing that mattered.

I can't say when that changed. I guess I could say a part of that changed the day Scully walked into my office. So self assured, rewriting Einstein. Of course, it didn't fully change then. No, no. That came much later.

But my point is, that time came. I changed. Suddenly it was no longer Samantha that mattered most to me, it was Scully. There was a time that I hated myself for that, and a time where I wanted to hate Scully for that. But I realized it was not her fault how much I cared for her.

I used to lie awake at night being upset that Scully somehow came before Samantha. But one day I woke up and forgot to feel bad. I know how terrible that sounds, but there comes a time in our lives when we make choices. And I don't know if this was so much a choice as a destiny, as corny as that sounds.

Of course I haven't forgotten Samantha—I know I never will. Nor will I ever stop looking for her or the truth of what happened to her. And I will never stop hoping that she's alive somewhere, happy and healthy.

But somewhere along the line I learned to love. I learned to love the way I promised myself I never would again.

And that destiny has brought me to this point.

This point I can scarcely stand being in. I'm miserable.

And I can't wake up and forget about it. Not with Scully—not ever with Scully.

* * *

_I know the style is a bit different, but I hope it still resonated with you guys at least a little bit. Review if you have any desire to let me know what worked for you, what didn't, etc._

_Thank you, friends!_

_Natalie_


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, guys, here's Chapter 5! I've been drastically busy, I'm afraid--and I know I say this every time, but I really am. Anyway, sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long--I really need to stop doing that! Okay, well, I'll be quiet now and let you get on with the story. If you would like to review, I would very much like to read what you have to say. I think that's Polite Code for please review:-)

Oh yes, slight warning--watch out for the f-bomb, it's dropped once.

Yes, well, that's all.

Natalie

* * *

Six Months Later:

It's been six months and three days since the day after we broke up. And these months have been hard as hell personally, professionally, whateverally, it's been like hell. Or the closest thing to hell I could imagine.

I still know I don't deserve Mulder, but I can't help but picture myself with him nearly all hours of the day. But it's too hard. Which is the coward's way out, but it is hard, that's the thing.

I have been dating a wonderful man who is attractive and sweet and gentle and kind, but I can't bring myself to fully commit to being with him. When I see him I wish it were Mulder, when he calls, I wish it were Mulder—but he's not. He's an amazing man, but he's not Mulder. I haven't been able to bring myself to know him in the Biblical sense because he's not Mulder, and it just doesn't feel right.

I know I should. I know I should move on, on, on, on with my life, but I can't. And it seems so strange that I lament about my troubles when I'm the one who caused them all. No one else—just me. And what's worse is, I know that. I don't even have the comfort of some delusional thought that it's _not_ my fault, though Lord knows I wish I could think like that.

We've been going along our merry ways, rarely speaking about anything that has anything to do with anything outside of work and cases. David, that's the man I'm seeing, has come to the office every once in awhile to pick me up even though I always beg him not to. Mulder's been civil at those times, David doesn't know about what used to be 'us,' and I don't know if it's something he needs to know.

The way Mulder and I knew each other was personal. It still is—it's still the most personal relationship I've ever had, and I don't think anyone but us needs the beautiful gory details that brought us to the states we're in today. Maybe I should tell David something—at least that Mulder and I dated. Ha, dated. If only that we're accurate. Perhaps if we'd only dated both of us or even one of us could truly move on. But we had loved. And it's so different when you've loved like we did; it's all so different, isn't it? It's not about seeing each other naked or buying each other fancy things to commemorate days, it's about the love that changes two people forever. I don't know if you've had that sort of love, but it's the love we had, and well…it's something you just don't recover from. It's something you just don't share with other people, David included.

* * *

It's been six months and I can honestly say that there hasn't been a day in which I've had any real clue as to what to do with myself.

Six months can be a really long time. It has felt like a lifetime since we were together in the sense that made both of us so very happy. She's dating someone new, and it gets harder and harder everyday she comes into the office.

I always wonder, you know. I don't want to, but I do. Did she sleep with him last night? Did he hold her in his arms? Does she fit as perfectly in his arms as she did in mine?

I honestly don't know what's worse, not knowing and letting my mind run wild or getting the answers I most likely do not want to hear. I'd like to say I blame her for moving on. Really, you have no idea how much I'd like to say that—almost as much as I'd like to say we're back together. But the kick you in the crotch fantastic part of this whole thing is that I don't. Blame her, that is.

I want to move on, too. I want to move on, on, on, on and only look back on lonely nights. But I can't.

It's so pathetic and mildly dull but I can't move on from what we had. I promised myself that I'd never love anyone the way I did…do…Scully, and I broke that promise when we were together. So now I have a new promise. I'll never love anybody _but_ Scully. I made that one up after the first time we made love.

It was a silent promise, but I think I'm going to keep it no matter what. Once you've loved somebody like that, with everything you have, and especially after promising yourself not to love anyone like that, you just can't go back.

I sometimes think it'd be nice if you could. Or maybe it'd be worse, you know? Who ever really knows these things?

I'd like to meet the guy that knows these things. The guy that knows all the answers to all the seriously ridiculous inane questions that make such a huge difference in all of our lives. I think he'd be pretty spectacular on a mediocre scale.

But that's beside the point. The point is, she's trying to move on, and I can't stand in the way of that no matter how badly I want to.

And oh, I do want to.

* * *

It's 5:30 when David comes to pick me up. I glance over at Mulder and his jaw is clenched. Tightly clenched. I smile at David and ask him to wait upstairs, he nods and goes upstairs.

For some reason I decide that we have _got_ to talk about this.

"Mulder." I say gently.

He clears his throat "Yeah?"

"Are you…okay…with this?" I put the question out there cautiously, it sounds so awkward even to my own ears and suddenly I wish I could take it back. I wish I could just swallow the words back into my heart where they were just a notion to begin with.

He looks at me then. Hard. "I'm sorry, Scully, are you asking for my permission?"

"No. I was just asking…I mean, I was just asking if you were okay with this…."

He smiles then—but it's not a kind smile. It's not a malicious smile either, it's somewhere in between. If I had to give it a name I'd say it looked quite a lot like defeat.

"Yes, Scully, I am perfectly fine with it." he starts at a normal tone, but it seems as though he grows angry quickly "I'm fine with this terribly handsome guy coming here to take you out on wonderful romantic dates. I'm perfectly FINE with this guy, Scully. What's MORE, is that I'm PERFECTLY FINE with you dating this guy! I'm perfectly fine with you going over to his apartment, and I'm perfectly FINE with you going over to HIS apartment, Scully, I'm perfectly fine." He's not yelling, just emphasizing certain words with such articulation that it makes me think about yet another thing I miss about him. His eyes dilate a little and he looks as if he's trying to, almost literally, bite his tongue. If that's indeed what his intentions were, he fails miserably when he raises his voice ever so slightly and says "And, Scully, I'm perfectly FINE knowing you _fuck_ him at night."

I am visibly taken aback by his vulgarity—it genuinely startles me and hurts me all at the same time. I understand it, but it breaks my heart a little.

I take a step closer to him "Mulder…" I trail off and he looks at me with that same sense of defeat. "I don't…we haven't… we've never…" I can't bring myself to say the words. I just gesture a little with my hands and hope he can fill in the blanks. I sigh and try again "We don't…. do that…" I finish quite lamely.

He scoffs slightly "Whatever, Scully."

* * *

TBC, dears.

I think I've got about two or three more chapters left to go. I haven't decided for certain yet. Let me know what you thought:-)

Thanks!

-Natalie


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, guys, I know it's been awhile, and once again, I apologize! Life is so hectic! I've taken on a second major, and I'm taking all upper division courses this semester, so it's been tough!

I'm sorry for staying away for so long! Thank you for reading my stories though, someday soon I hope to be able to dedicate more time to these things... I love them, and I appreciate all of you responding to my work! It means a lot!

One more thing before the story continues:

For my final project in one of my courses, I'm going to be doing a project on the body images of women in general, and how religion correlates (or can correlate) to that image! So, I've compiled a survey, asking some pretty basic questions, and it's completely ANONYMOUS, the survey doesn't track the respondents or anything like that, so I would greatly appreciate if, if you're female, you could please take the survey (even if you don't subscribe to a religion)... it's only 8 questions and shouldn't take long! I know I should ask this of you, being that I've kept you guys waiting for so long... but I really need people to respond: )

The survey address is: www .surveymonkey. com/s.asp?u892573294086

Only you'll have to take the spaces between www and the . as well as between . and the com after you past it into your browser, since it wouldn't let me post a link.

Thank you so much!

On with the story!

Review if you so please (because I definitely so please!)

-Natalie

* * *

"Mulder…" I start, "we need to…talk about this." 

"I think I've said enough, Scully." He says, staring at his computer.

"I know, but you need to know that we don't…" I trail off. For some reason, I just can't say this outright to Mulder. "We don't…"

"Yeah, I know. You've said that already. And I think I've said already that I don't care."

"You've said that, yes." I say because, well, I don't know what else to say.

"Well, then I'm not entirely sure why you feel the need to continue talking about this."

I inhale deeply. "Because, Mulder, I… care about you, and I think it's important that you know that David and I are not sleeping together."

He looks up from his computer briefly, "Gee, thanks Scully."

His sarcasm is sharp, and I feel it deeply. I don't know what I expected. I didn't expect him to beg me to return to him, or even to be jealous. Oh, okay, I guess I kind of expected that, I guess maybe hoped would be the right word. I guess I hoped for anything but this sort of reaction.

"Mulder…come on…."

"No, Scully, you come on. I don't know what you want from me. You feel it's important for me to know that you're not fucking what'shisname, for whatever sadistic reason, and that's fine. I get it. Point clear and well observed, though not particularly well articulated." He says, rising from his chair. "You are free to date whomever you want, for whatever reason you want, and I should just say right now that I don't need to be apprised of the situation as it progresses."

"Okay, fine. I understand." I say, anger evident in my voice.

"Good. Now, hurry along, you wouldn't want to keep your beau waiting."

I open my mouth to say something, but I change my mind at the last minute. He's managed to make me really angry, and it's certainly best that I don't say anything right now.

Instead of speaking, I turn on my heels to leave the office, slamming the door behind me.

* * *

The door slams, and I feel my heart drop into my stomach as I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. 

Jesus, that was hard.

I hate being angry at her, and I hate being mean to her, but she really left me no option. No, that's not true; she left me all the options in the world, except the one that I really, truly want.

I sit back down in my seat, and put my head in my hands. This has been one hell of a ride, and I just hate feeling like this. I hate that I can't just be happy, that I can't have the one thing I really want.

She said she's not sleeping with this guy, and I can't decide if I believe her or not. I shake my head, trying to erase the thought from my mind, but it just won't go away. I wonder if she's lying. She probably would, if she thought knowing the truth would make me angry or upset, but she might not have been so insistent that I know they weren't sleeping together.

Whether they are or not, the images flood my mind. And I hate them, too. I hate picturing her in anyone else's arms or bed but my own—but I can't help it. I see her there, with him, with this guy that doesn't deserve her.

Oh hell, I don't know if he deserves her or not, I've never really met him, but I don't want him to have her. I don't want his arms or any other part of his body near her at all.

I hope she was telling the truth.

I sigh. Hard. Life was so much easier a few months ago. Not just easier. Life was so much better a few months ago, when the world felt right.

I laugh a little bit at myself, and then I hear heels clopping down the hall, before I know it, the door flies open, and I see Scully standing there, and she looks angry.

* * *

I see him, at his desk, with his head in his hands, and for a moment my anger goes away. But, just as soon, it returns. I know I don't have any right to be angry, but I can't help it, I just am. 

"Mulder. We need to talk." I say forcefully.

I went upstairs to meet David, but I couldn't get my mind off of Mulder, which is nothing new, but it was different this time—the way he acted made me angry. No, not angry. The way he acted made me worried.

I know I was the one who broke things off, but I…don't know. I don't want him to really not care about whom I see, or sleep with, or anything. Which sounds completely selfish, I understand that, but I can't change how I feel.

He smiles a little, although it doesn't look genuine, and says "Where's David?"

"He went home." I say, matter-of-factly.

He gets up and crosses to the edge of his desk, leaning on it, he crosses his arms across his chest. "Okay, then. Talk."

I swallow; I'm still not exactly sure what I want to say. "Okay… well… Look. If this is going to work, then we're going to have to get over whatever this is. If we're going to stay partners, we're going to not have to be bitter about things."

He scoffs. "What?" I ask.

"Scully, I'm not bitter, and this isn't crossing into our professional lives."

"We're at the office."

"Yes, where you brought your new boyfriend to rub in my face."

"That's not why he was here! I told him not to come here; I wasn't trying to rub anything in your face."

"Whatever, Scully."

"It's the truth!"

"Okay, fine. But, Scully, I'm going to say this and I'm only going to say it one time: I do _not_ want to be friend with your boyfriends."

"I'm not asking you to be friends, I'm just asking you to be civil!"

"I'm not going to be civil either." He says.

"Why not?"

"Christ, Scully, do you really have to ask? Do you really? You're not stupid, Scully, so stop acting like you are."

"I'm not acting stupid, Mulder, but you say you don't care who I'm _fucking_ in one breath, and in the next tell me you refuse to be civil to a man I'm dating."

At the word 'fucking,' I see him flinch a little. He's not used to me using such language, and I briefly wonder what's going through his head.

"Scully… what do you want from me?" he asks, his voice monotone.

"I…" I trail off because I know what I want from him, but I can't bring myself to say it.

"Just tell me. Whatever it is, whatever you want… I'll do it." He says, a tone of defeat evident in his voice.

I sigh, "I don't know, Mulder… I just know that…" I trail off, trying to find the right words to say what I mean "I'm trying to move on. I know that I've tried…that I'm trying and no matter what I just can't seem to do it. I just can't seem to let you go, no matter how nice of a guy David is, no matter what he says or does, I can only think of you, and I can't get you out of my head… I can't let go, Mulder, I can't." I finish, and wait for his response.

He's quiet for a moment, and then he opens his mouth as if he's going to speak, and a slight sound comes out as if he's about to form a word, but he quickly closes it again, saying nothing.

So, I wait. I'm unsure what to say, he's not looking at me—he's staring at the ground, and he looks pensive—as if he's contemplating what to say or do.

My heart is beating so quickly that I can hardly stand it, and I'm expecting…well, I don't know exactly what I'm expecting.

I see him start to move, and at first I think he's moving towards me, and my heart skips a beat, until I realize that he's not heading towards me—I watch, as he makes his way to the coat rack, grabs his jacket and walks right past me.

He walks out the door, closing it gently behind him.

I stand, silent, unsure of what to do next. I was expecting anything but that.

So, after a moment, when I've regained my ability to think, I do the only thing I can think to do, and I follow after him.

* * *

TBC - hope you enjoyed! 


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter is different from the previous ones. After the first and only line break within the story, the point of view switches from Scully's first person, to an omniscient third person narrator. It might feel weird, but it worked the best for the story I wanted to tell from there on out.

Thank you guys for your support… I appreciate it. This chapter is my true apology for waiting so long to update my stories (assuming you want to read them, of course!)

* * *

I didn't catch sight of him until we were in the lobby, and I shouted at him, but he didn't turn around. I'd like to think he didn't hear me, but I'm sure that the opposite is closer to the truth.

But, still, I followed him, through the throng of people milling about in the lobby—some of them were staring, but I didn't care. That didn't matter.

I watched him thrust the door open, angrily, and step without cover into the downpour that must have started after I said good-bye to David. I hurried up, knowing that I had a good chance of losing him, or he had a good chance of losing me outside.

And something told me that if he got away this time, it would be for good—that there would be no turning back.

I almost tripped on my heels, but I kept going, yelling his name, until finally, I caught up to him.

"Mulder!" I said, grabbing his arm, "Wait!"

He shrugged me off and put some distance between us, though he didn't try to run away.

"Scully." He said, his voice a warning.

"Mulder, we need to talk…"

He shrugged his shoulders, but remained silent.

"Mulder, we need to talk." I repeated, my voice sounding more imploring than before. He still said nothing, just stared at me, so I opened my mouth to begin to speak—he saw my attempt and cut me off.

"No. If anyone's going to talk, I'm going to be the one. You've said quite enough in the past few months." His voice was calm, but I could tell there was anger bubbling just below the surface—I knew he must be killing himself trying to contain it. So, I remained silent, a gesture for him to continue—for him to speak.

* * *

He took a deep breath, and all at once everything he'd been feeling in the last few hours, the last few months, came forward. "You're in there talking about how you can't move on… how you can't let go! But what about me?!"

As she stood in the pouring rain, she felt ashamed at her behavior, ashamed at herself, so she did the smart thing, and kept quiet.

He took a step closer to her and said "This isn't what I wanted, you know. This is the last thing on this earth that I wanted. What I wanted was to hold you in my arms everyday of my life and never let you go… _that's_ what _I_ wanted." Another step, "You think this is easy for me? To come here and see you everyday, knowing how much I love you," another step "how much I want you" another step towards her "how much _I need you_? Do you think it's easy for me??" He paused, expecting her to answer.

She looked down, they were both soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter, nothing else mattered at this moment, and she gave him the only answer she could "N-no."

"You're damn right it's not. I have tried to move on, Scully, I have. I've tried to date other women, believe me, _I have TRIED!_ But it's not easy when every where I turn I see pieces of your presence! I'm standing in my kitchen and I see the coffee mug you used when you stayed over, and I'm right back where I was at day one! I'm incapable of making any progress because every time I walk into my bedroom and look at my bed, I'm reminded of you, I'm back to sleeping on my couch, because I can't stand being in my own bedroom anymore, because it reminds me too much of you, I can't stop the thoughts that invade my mind." Another step, and he was almost toe-to-toe with her, he wasn't angry anymore, but he continued "Everywhere I turn I see you, I feel you, I…hear you. I hear your laughter and it breaks my heart, Scully. It breaks my heart… what's left of it anyway… but I can't _look_ at another woman without comparing her to you…" He trailed off… "And, surprise, surprise, they all fall short in comparison."

She looked at him, searching his eyes, and what she saw there moved her to tears, she saw hurt, she saw the residual bits of anger, still not completely gone, but most of all, she saw love. She saw the love she had been so afraid that he had let go of. She saw it there in his eyes, as unmistakable as the science she so religiously relied upon.

"Scully, I've come to realize that…" He paused. "Even if I live until I'm a hundred and two, there's just no way that I'll _ever get over you_. Never." The tears rolling down his cheeks mingled with the rain, but she could still see them plain as day, and they triggered tears in her eyes. "But…"

The word sent a shiver down her spine. There was more.

"But what?" she tentatively asked him.

"I don't know if I can go through this again, Scully, I don't know if I can." His voice sounded so meek, and he was still crying, he was still so hurt.

"Through what?" she asked, though she knew plain well what he meant.

He motioned between the small divide that separated them "This, Scully… This."

She brought her hand to his face "Oh, Mulder. I… I never meant to hurt you." She stated.

"But you did." He said, as he brought his hand up to his face to cover hers.

She closed her eyes, ashamed that she had hurt him so. "I know. I'm sorry." She said removing her hand.

He was silent for a moment, and then continued, resolution overcoming his face. "But the thing of it is, Scully, as much as I wanted to hate you for what you'd done to me, as much as I wanted to just let your memory go, I couldn't… I can't" his face was just inches from hers. "You really have no idea how much I wanted to think badly about you, how much I wanted to hate you…but even when I tried, I came back around to the same conclusion, it never changed, it never wavered, not once." He spoke passionately, "And do you know why, Scully? Do you know why I couldn't hate you?"

She shivered, involuntarily, from the cold, from the heavy rain that still poured down with vengeance, from being soaked to the bone, but mostly, from anticipation of his words. Her voice was soft, hopeful, as she asked "Why?"

"Because I'm too damn much in love with you." And with that, he put his hand behind her head, and drew her roughly into a kiss.

She felt her heart drop to her stomach, and then felt her stomach do a little flip. She was startled by his passion, by the fervor with which he kissed her, and it took her a moment to respond. But she returned his kiss with equal passion as she let the tears fall down her face.

Finally, he pulled away from her, and put his forehead to hers. "Tell me what you want, Scully."

She exhaled sharply, unprepared for his question.

He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, and left his hand there. "Say it."

She swallowed her sob, but she was finally able to speak, and she said it. "You." She put her hand on the back of his neck. "I want you, Mulder……"she trailed off, and broke eye contact with him, but he wasn't about to allow her to get away so easily, he cupped her chin and brought her gaze level with his. "Forever." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

He leaned in for another kiss, this one softer, gentler. But still just as passionate, releasing the tension that had been building since the end.

She broke the kiss this time, smiling.

"Forever, then?" he asked.

"Forever."

He smiled "I'll need some proof." He stated matter-of-factly as he took her by the hand.

She laughed "You'll have plenty of proof when we get back to my apartment."

With that, they began to walk, hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, both drenched to the bone with rain, but neither of them had ever felt so warm.

* * *

The End

This story was just a small idea in my head one day, after listening to some music (I seem to get a lot of my inspiration that way), and I don't know if I told it as thoroughly as I would have liked—but I do hope you enjoyed it.

Mulder and Scully are characters close to my heart (although they did not originate there oh how I wish that they did!), and their story on screen (and off through fanfic and other means) speaks volumes about human nature and what it means to live and love.

It is in that sense, that any characters of literature can come alive—on screen, in stories made up by people who admire them, in books, in stories, in song, in film, in _life_, everyday life, and that which seems larger than it.

All of this to say, thank you for sticking with me, sparse though my updates may be—I enjoy fanfic, and I enjoy so very much hearing what all of you think of my ideas, stories, and the like. I write my stories for me, but even more than that, I write them for you.

Shantih.

Paz.

Amor.

Amore.

Peace and Love mean the same things in any language, and these are the things I wish for you.

-Natalie

Pieces of your presence - Colin Hay

I drink good coffee every morning

Comes from a place that's far away

And when I'm done, I feel like talking

Without you here, there is less to say

I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy

What is closer to the truth

That if I lived 'til I was a hundred and two

I just don't think I'll ever get over you

I'm no longer moved to drink strong whiskey

I shook the hand of time and I knew

That if I lived 'til I could no longer climb my stairs

I just don't think I'll ever get over you

A face it dances and it haunts me

The laughter still ringing in my ears

I still find pieces of your presence here

Even, even after all these years

I don't want you thinking that I don't get asked to dinner

'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do

And even though I may seem to a feel a touch of love

I just don't think I'll ever get over you

And if I lived 'til I was a hundred and two

I just don't think I'll ever get over you...

-- Colin Hay


End file.
